


a language they cannot understand

by frostedgoddess



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Nice Peter, Stiles Stilinski Speaks Polish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 18:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11385522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostedgoddess/pseuds/frostedgoddess
Summary: Stiles says things in Polish because he thinks no one can understand him. Peter decides not to share the fact that he knows Polish too.There's also a lot of very juvenile pining.





	a language they cannot understand

**Author's Note:**

> So, before you read this fic I just wanna say that I am very aware that bilingual people do not 'slip' into different languages by accident. So please keep in mind that when Stiles speaks Polish, he is doing it on purpose, because:  
> 1) He thinks it makes him look cool  
> 2) He can say whatever he wants because no one can understand him
> 
> Special thank you to [come-saidmysoul](http://come-saidmysoul.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, for her work in translation so I didn't have to google translate Stiles' Polish.
> 
> **[Translations of Polish look like this]**  
>     
> [Runespoor are giant three headed snakes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljdw9W3CpzI)  
> A Lenshy/lenshiye is a Russian shapeshifter that eats people.  
> [A corgi/Australian shepherd mix](http://static.wixstatic.com/media/046207_74df08fa0eef4a7ca9c6b0a993bdfce9.jpg_srz_2041_1569_85_22_0.50_1.20_0.00_jpg_srz)

This was bullshit.

Peter already knew that doing the Morally Right™ thing was bullshit. It was exhausting, thankless, endless work. It was so much easier, more rewarding and just _better_ to be self-serving. In Peter’s world, just staying alive was exhausting, endless work but when you did things for yourself instead of the greater good, at least there were some perks.

Which is why it was so infuriating that after Peter has thrown himself in between Boyd and the vicious right head of a Runespoor, for no other reason than it was the right thing; Stiles barely waited until the three-headed snake was dead before turning on Peter and yelling at him.

 

“What the fuck was that Peter?” Stiles demanded, amber eyes alight in really, really unnecessary fury.

“What was what?” Peter was genuinely confused, the serpentine Cerberus was dead, everyone lived and Peter hadn’t even betrayed anyone to save himself.

“The almost dying?” Stiles took in a deep breath, a tell-tale sign that he was about to go all the way off. “The throwing yourself into the open jaws of the huge ass snake!”

“Well, the fangs of the ‘huge ass snake’ were this close to Boyd’s carotid artery, not even an alpha’s healing would have been able to save him from that. It only got me across my stomach and I’m already all better.”

“The venom could have killed you!”

“I know that the venom is known to kill werewolves but I figured a born wolf had a better shot of fighting it off from a stomach bite than a bitten werewolf with a neck wound.”

Isaac took this inopportune opportunity to butt in, “How the hell did you know that?” The teenager seemed reasonably panicked about the idea that the giant snake they had just killed could have actually killed him.

Stiles’ fury instantly changed gears. “Does no one read my research? What’s the point of me looking this stuff up if you don’t even glance at it?”

Isaac did at least have the decency to look ashamed. But Stiles’ self-imposed essays on the creatures they fought were not the easiest things to read; they often went off on tangents or contained immense detail on unimportant factors that Stiles just happened to find interesting about the monster, rather than just the basics of how to kill them.

“And you!” Stiles’ anger returned its focus to Peter. “Don’t do that again! You-you…” For a moment, his jaw worked uselessly, as Stiles’ brain struggled to find an adequate insult. “You absolute fucking kochanie. **[sweetheart]**  You could have died, you imbecilic światłości mojego życia! **[light of my life]** "

Stiles spat finally before spinning around and stalking off into the preserve.  

Amidst Jackson’s frantic attempts to tell Stiles he was going the wrong way, Peter was thinking. Had Stiles just used sweetheart as an insult?

 

* * *

 

Peter wasn’t fluent in Polish or anything, so he spent the next few days brushing up on the vocabulary. Eventually, the older man figured that he must have misheard or something. It wasn’t like sharp, quick witted Stiles would call Peter ‘sweetheart’. And he most certainly wouldn’t misuse a word from his own first language. So, Peter put it out of his mind.

 

The door of the loft slammed shut, and the endless teenage babble that had been contained outside was brought inside. Peter glanced up for a moment from his phone, seeing Isaac following after an impassive Stiles, looking desperate.

“Stiles! I apologised, I don’t know what else I can do!”

“You can just leave me the hell alone, moron. Odpieprz się.” **[Piss off/fuck off]**

“But Stiiiiiles!” Isaac whinged.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked curiously.

“Stiles won’t give me his research on the leshy.”

“That is a blatant lie! You’re holding a copy of how to detect and kill leshiye right there.” Stiles retorted, glaring at Isaac.

The young werewolf held the single typed page out to Peter. “It’s written in gibberish!” He complained loudly. Peter took the page and scanned through the warning signs of being stalked by the shapeshifter.

“Uh, no.” Stiles said, tone clipped. “It’s written in my native Polish, which shouldn’t matter too much because apparently I’m the only one who reads my reports.”

“I’m sorry, I swear it was the only time I forgot to read it,” Isaac’s heartbeat blipped for a moment at the bald-faced lie. “Please, I don’t want to be eaten!”

“Well you can do your own research and translation on Russian cannibal spirits then!” Stiles spat out.

“Isaac, Stiles doesn’t do all the research he does because it’s fun. He does it to help keep everyone safe, he’s giving you the tools to protect yourself and everyone else in the pack, and you don’t even bother to read through a few typed pages.”

“See even Peter gets it! Thank you, wilczek.” **[sexywolf/wolf as a term of affection]**

“Sorry.” Peter interrupted. “What did you just call me?”

“Zombiewolf!” Stiles blurted, seeming panicked. “Sorry wilczek is Polish for zombie.”

No, no it wasn’t. Wilczek was Polish for sexy.

By the time everyone else had arrived at the apartment, Stiles had caved under Isaac’s apologies and handed over the copy in English, which Isaac immediately read in detail where Stiles could see him.  While Stiles answered Isaac’s question’s, Peter went online to check that Stiles really had called him sexy. He had.

Well Peter knew how he looked, he didn’t wear tight clothes to _hide_ his physique. Peter was getting a little old to have a fuckbuddies relationship with a teenager, but he still didn’t mention to Stiles that he understood what had been said, or that he understood Polish at all, it wasn’t like he wanted Stiles to stop.

After that night, there was a sense of Baader-Meinhof taking over. Every time Peter saw Stiles, it seemed as though the teenager was muttering in Polish, or interjecting his speech with random words or phrases in Polish. 

They were at Deaton’s for another leshy-related 'emergency', such an emergency that Deaton was in the middle of dealing with a patient, a yippy little corgi Australian shepherd mix. Eventually. Peter got so irritated at the high-pitched barking, that he picked up the tiny puppy, tucking in in the crook of his elbow and scratched it between the ears. The way Erica and Boyd flinched towards him, as though he was about to injure the dog for making noise might have insulted him. Fortunately for the couple, Stiles immediately made a sound like he’d been punched in the stomach, all the air in his lungs being forced out in a huge rush and stealing Peter's attention.

“What the fuck.” Stiles murmured. “Jestem dobrym człowiekiem, nie zasługuję na to. Jakim cudem wyglądasz jeszcze bardziej atrakcyjnie?” **[I’m a good person, I don’t deserve this. How do you look more attractive?]**

Peter took a moment to imagine Stiles’ face if he answered the rhetorical question in Polish but managed to stop himself. Stiles didn’t have the same restraint.

“Oczywiście, radzi sobie dobrze ze zwierzętami.” ** [Of course, he’s good with animals.]**

“Are you still with us, Mr Stilinski?” Deaton asked, everyone, having waivered their attention at the novelty of seeing Stiles speaking another language.

That was a first, Peter had listened to Stiles lament the depth of his V-neck shirt for ten whole minutes yesterday, but the comment about animals was the first time Stiles said something that wasn’t about how hot he thought Peter was. Thankfully, his body heat and scent calmed the tiny grey fluffball and the yipping stopped.

Peter felt his own heartbeat start to speed up, before taking a deep, silent breath to force it to slow down. Peter couldn’t get involved with Stiles on a superficial level, and after the decade-long Lydia debacle Peter had heard about but (thankfully), never witnessed, Peter was sure that Stiles would let him know if there were any significant emotions there.

Besides, saying Peter was good with animals was hardly a declaration of anything.

“There’s a good, _quiet_ girl!” Peter gushed, amused to see how his baby talk shocked the rest of his pack.

After Deaton finished prattling on, saying everything Stiles’ research did in a much more irritatingly unclear fashion, Peter offered to give Stiles a lift.

“Well that was a complete waste of a Saturday morning. I wish Derek would trust your research so he doesn’t drag us to that cryptic veterinarian ever again.”

“You too? I know he’s older and supposedly wiser but I think he’s difficult on purpose like 80% of the time.”

“Ugh, next time Derek demands we ‘double check’ your facts I’m just not going to show up.”

“I know, I’m starving.”

“I could buy you lunch on our way home.”

 

* * *

 

In a small diner on the corner of a smaller street, Peter sat across from the teenager he was far too interested in. It was amazing how the long speeches that so enraptured Peter somehow irritated the others that spoke to Stiles.

“…And that is why it’s De Niro’s greatest performance!” Stiles finished with a beatific smile.

“I haven’t seen that film, you’ll have to show it to me sometime.” Peter said in answer. He’d said only a few sentences in comparison to Stiles’ full cinematic analysis but their conversation didn’t feel out of balance or one-sided.

“Yeah! You bring butter popcorn and we can make a date out of it!” Stiles froze, his smile becoming more a bearing of teeth than anything joyous.

“Stiles…” Peter began, though he had no idea how his sentence would have ended.

“I’m so sorry!” Stiles’ voice cracked tragically. “Cholera.” **[Damn it]**

“Hey, Stiles it’s okay, you don’t need to panic, I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

Stiles let out a high-pitched laugh, his breath coming in short, ineffectual pants. “Right, of course, we’re good friends, aren’t we? I mean I know I’m a lot younger…”

“Of course, Stiles, we’re friends. I’m not going to say, ‘age is just a number’ but you’ve been through more than any human your age or even my age! And you’re smart enough to keep up with me which is a rare trait.”

Stiles blushed and smiled, Peter realised far too late that his hand was cupped around Stiles’ chin, that it felt easy and natural to comfort Stiles with touch, instead of the distance he kept even with Derek.

Peter dropped his hand back to the table, moving reluctantly but not so slow as to give himself away.

“Stiles, you don’t need to be scared of me.” Peter could hear Stiles’ galloping heart and he knew Stiles had an issue with fear boners which would explain all the Polish comments.

“Peter I’m not scared of you. I mean Molotov cocktailing you that one time helped to work out a lot of my anger and you aren’t even that frightening.”

“I sort of am, but you’re probably the bravest human I’ve met, I still think you would make an incredible werewolf.”

Stiles made a non-committal grunt. “Maybe one day.”

“Let me take you home.”

 

Before they even reached Stiles’ house after the two men climbed out of the car, Peter could smell his nephew all up against the side of the house leading up to Stiles’ bedroom. Logically, Peter knew that Derek and Stiles worked on strategies for fighting creatures together. Well, Stiles came up with ideas and Derek pushed him around and questioned him at every turn. Peter’s skin still crawled knowing that if Derek could get into Stiles’ room so easy, that something else might also be able to get to the human while he slept.

“How often does Derek climb in through your window?”

“Hey! How did you know about that?” Stiles asked, aghast.

“Stiles, the side of your house smells as strongly of my nephew as his own living room.”

“Well, what’s it to you?”

Stiles didn’t ask cruelly, but Peter felt wrong-footed anyway, almost as though he was worried about Stiles somehow smelling the odd mix of concern and jealousy that Peter was pumping out into the afternoon air.

“I’m just worried about your safety, Derek might be the only creature of the night you want getting into your bedroom, but if you aren’t being secure, something else might be able to get in.”

“Och, on nie jest jedyny.” **[Oh, he isn’t the only one.]**

“Huh?” Peter reacted before thinking it through. Then he twigged.

“I said, thanks for looking out for me.” Lie.

Peter knew he couldn’t lie to Stiles forever, and Derek and Cora knew full well that Peter was a polyglot who spoke some Polish, so he wouldn’t be able to pretend to be ignorant because his oblivious nephew would probably find a socially inept way to admit that Peter understood every word. And then Peter would never get to hear Stiles say anything nice about him ever again.

“I’ll put in some mountain ash after I talk to Derek, he’d flip out if I warded him out of my house without a heads up. Goodbye, Peter.”

Peter watched Stiles walk away and inexplicably felt regret, as though there was something he could have done other than pretend he didn’t know Stiles wanted to fuck him. This wasn’t some romance movie and if Peter slept with Stiles he’d end up just feeling like a filthy pervert and the younger members of the pack would have even more reason to hate him.

If Peter let himself have too much, he would end up losing everything.

 

* * *

 

Peter felt inexplicably awkward at the next pack movie night, Stiles seemed perfectly at ease but after Peter had articulated to himself why he was so uncomfortable with the idea of being with Stiles if it was only one night, he was on edge. And after everything Peter had done, even if Stiles _said_ he was forgiven, it would only ever be physical.

Erica had chosen some film with an excess of gratuitous nudity, laughing at the combination of arousal and discomfort that filled the room every few minutes. Peter could definitely appreciate her torture methods. Not too far into the movie, Peter was reminded of the butter popcorn he’d bought for Stiles for their future movie date. Since sitting in a room with a bunch of teenage couples wasn’t exactly Peter’s idea of fun, he had no issue going and popping the kernels on the stove with butter, bringing it back for Stiles in a glass bowl halfway through the film.

The sound Stiles made could have possibly been the most erotic thing Peter had heard in a really long time.

“Dlatego właśnie tak bardzo Cię kocham.” **[This is why I love you so much.]**

Stiles’ heartbeat was steady, he was telling the truth.

“You love me?”

Everyone in the room froze.

“You speak Polish?” Stiles practically screamed back in alarm.

“Okay, everyone out.” Peter stated, making a sweeping gesture towards the door without taking his eyes off of where Stiles was sprawled across the couch.

There were some random complaints but no one actually even attempted to stay.

“The movie isn’t over!”  
“I’m supposed to be here until late!”  
“I actually live here?!” That was probably Derek.

Stiles didn’t move an inch, his eyes locked onto Peter with a look of terror.

“Peter…”

Before Stiles could even try to take back what he’d said, Peter dove onto Stiles with a predatory smirk and kissed him stupid. Stiles melted into it immediately with a high sound that was halfway between a moan and a whine. 

Peter had his hands under Stiles’ shirt, his thumbs pressed against hipbones and fingers spanning out towards Stiles’ spine. Peter had never kissed someone who was as enthusiastic as his vivacious little human.

“Wait, wait,” Stiles murmured after a few minutes, drawing away from Peter. “Does this mean you spoke Polish all those other times?”

“You mean when you called me 'kochanie', kochanie? **[Sweetheart]  **Or when you said it wasn’t fair I was so attractive?”

“God, don’t remind me.”

“What, why?” Peter said, a little shocked at the mortification that soured Stiles’ naturally sweet scent.

“I’m sure it’s weird for you that I’ve been so into you for such a long time…”

Peter laughed, forcing himself to stop when he realised that it sounded pretty cruel and as though he was confirming Stiles’ fear.

“You must be joking, darling.”

When Stiles’ face didn’t change from the expression of humiliation and sorrow, Peter elaborated.

“Stiles, I rather thought it would be obvious at this point but I do love you too.”

Stiles’ face lit up and threw himself at Peter, almost resulting in the older werewolf falling backwards off the couch onto the coffee table.

“Woah there, gorgeous.” Peter said, shifting so his back was against the armrest. “Now that I’m against a solid surface, you can feel free to jump me if you’d like.”

Stiles tucked himself right into Peter’s chest, the romance of the moment slightly ruined by the fake moaning of the starlet on the TV that was still on.

“Did you think I kissed you just to mess with you or something? Why would you think that your interest in me would turn me off?”

“Why didn’t you say _you_ loved _me_ if you’ve been hearing about how I was tits-down ass-up in love with you?” Stiles snarked back, sounding accusatory.

“Stiles.” Peter started slowly. “Saying I’m crazy hot and calling me sweetheart once isn’t a Shakespearean sonnet, I thought you maybe just wanted my dick.”

“I do want your dick. I also want to take you on dates and cook you breakfast and wear your hoodies to school.”

“I don’t own a hoodie, Stiles.”

“We can get you one later.”

“Before or after I fuck you through the mattress?”

 "Oh, definitely after."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be super clear, Peter is not fluent in Polish, he was probably very close to fluent when younger but has gone without any practice for a long time.
> 
> [derrickhale](http://piesexual.co.vu/) (my tumblr)  
> 


End file.
